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country farmer sits in a good coach, drawn by two superb horses. There, dirt and darkness in the narrow streets; here, the way every where dry and clean, and no crowding, notwithstanding the great number of passengers. London, indeed, is a beautiful city! Every where prevails a cleanliness, which is rarely to be met with in other cities; and people of the lowest rank are well dressed, and a certain degree of order and regula. sity pervades every thing, and makes a very pleasing impression on the mind of a stranger,

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“ Who can all sense of others ills escape,
Is but a brute, at best, in human shape."".

TATI's Juvenal,
VaRent of virtue! if thine ear
* Attend not now to sorrow's cry;
If now the pity-streaming tear

Should haply on thy cheek be dry,
Indulge my votive strain, O, sweet Humanity!

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Come, ever welcome to my breast !
A tender, but a cheerful guest;
Nor always in the gloomy cell
Of life-consuming sorrow dwell;
For sorrow, long indulg'd, and slow,
Is to humanity a foe; .
And grief, that makes the heart its prey,
Wears sensibility away:
Then comes, sweet nymph, instead of thee,
The gloomy fiend, Stupidity.


O, may that fiend be banish'd far, . Though passions hold eternal war! Nor ever cease to let me know,

The pulse that throbs at joy or woe; . Nor let my vacant cheek be dry, W hen sorrow fills a brother's eye; Nor may the tear, that frequent flows, From private, or from social woes, E’er make this pleasing sense depart: Ye cares, 0, harden not my heart!

If the fair star of fortune smile,
Let not its flattering power beguile;
Nor, borne along the fav’ring tide,
My full sails swell with floating pride.
Let me from wealth but hope content,
Remember still it was but lent;
To modest merit spread my store,
Unbar my hospitable door;
Nor feed, with pomp, an idle train,
While wants unpitied pine in vain.

If Heaven, in every purpose wise,
The envied lot of wealth denies.
If doom'd to drag life's painful load
Through poverty's uneven road,
And for the due bread of the day,
Destin'd to toil as well as pray; .
To thee, Humanity, still true,
I'll wish the good I cannot do,
And give the wretch that passes by,
A soothing word a tear-a sigh.

Howe'er exalted or deprest,
Be ever mine the feeling breast.
From me remove the stagnant mind
Of languid indolence, reclin'd;
The soul that one long sabbath keeps,
And through the sun's whole circle sleeps,
Dull peace, that dwells in Folly's eye,
And self-attendant vanity.
Alike the foolish and the vain,
Are strangers to the sense humane.

O, for that sympathetic glow,
Which taught the holy tear to flow!
When the prophetic eye survey'd,
Sion in future ashes laid !
Or, rais'd to Heaven, implor'd the bread,
That thousands in the desert fed!
Or, when the heart o'er friendship’s grave
Sigh’d, and forgot its power to save.
O, for that sympathetic glow,
Which taught the holy tear to flow!

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It comes, it fills my labouring breast.
I feel my beating heart opprest.
Oh, hear that lonely widow's wail!
See her dim eye, her aspect pale!
To Heaven she turns, in deep despair,
Her infants wonder at her pray's,
And, mingling tears, they know not why,
Lift up their little hands and cry.
O, God! their moving sorrows see!
Support them, sweet Humanity!

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Life, fill'd with Grief's distressful train,
For ever ask the tear humane.
Behold, in yon unconscious grove,
The victims of ill-fated love!
Heard you that agonizing throe?
Sure this is no romantic woe!
The golden day of joy is o'er,
And now they part to meet no more.
Assist them, hearts from anguish free!
Assist them, sweet Humanity!

Parent of virtue, if thine ear

Attend not now to sorrow's cry;
If now the pity-streaming tear

Should haply on thy cheek be dry,
Indulge my votive strain, O, sweet Humanity!


" Love, various minds does variously inspire;
He stirs in gentle nature gentle fire,
Like that of incense on the altars laid.
But raging flames tempestuous souls invade.” DRYDIN.

WHEN a holy zeal to drive the Infidels from the Holy Land had seized all Europe, and the pious knights, bearing the badge of the cross, repaired in crowds to the east, Count Gleichen also left his native land, and with his friends and countrymen went to Asia. I shall not describe his heroic achievments; I shall content myself with saying, that the bravest knights of Christendom admired his prowess, but it pleased Heaven to try the hero's

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faith. Count Gleichen was made prisoner by the Infi-
dels, and became the slave to a Muhamedan of dis-
tinction, who intrusted his gardens to Gleichen's care.
The unfortunate count was now employed in watering
violets and blue-bells, lilies and roses. The hero long en-
dured the horrors of captivity; but all his sighs and vows
would have been ineffectual, if a fair Saracen, his master's
lovely daughter, had not begun to regard him with
looks of the tenderest affection. Often, concealed ben
neath the veil of night, did she listen to his melancholy
songs often did she see him weep, whilst praying,
and her beauteous eyes were likewise suffused in tears.
A modest shame, the peculiar virtue of a youthful fe.
male heart, long prevented her from declaring her
passion; or from intimating, in any manner, to the
slave how deeply she sympathised in his 'sorrows. At
length the spark kindled into a flame, shame was si-
Jenced, and love could no longer be concealed in her
heart, but poured in fiery torrents from her mouth into
the soul of the astonished count. Her angelic inno-
cence, her blooming beauty, and the idea that by her
means he might, perhaps, be able to obtain his liberty;
all this made such a powerful impression on his mind,
that he forgot his wife. He swore eternal love to the
beauteous Saracen, on condition that she would agree
to leave father and native land, and fly with him to
Europe. Ah! she had already forgotten her father
and her country. The count was her all. She hastens
away, brings a key, opens a private door leading to the
fields, and Aies away with her beloved. The silence
of night, which covered them with her sable mantle,
favours their flight. They arrive safely in the country

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